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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26550112">sing one for the old times</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnassau/pseuds/iamnassau'>iamnassau</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Childhood Friends, First Christmas, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Gender Issues, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Trans John Irving, Trans Male Character, and they were roommates oh my god they were roommates, both of them are long-suffering office workers with prestigious degrees and nothing to do with them, but no transphobia, god. this is SO cliche. and i do not care, john irving submits to the mortifying ordeal of being known, john irving's shitty dad, me at myself: this is so typical, yes it's september what about it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:08:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,289</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26550112</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnassau/pseuds/iamnassau</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Neither of us have to forget anything, John.”</p><p>“How can you reconcile this with that?” he asks, gesturing between himself and a diminutive space on the floor, something unspeakable imagined there.</p><p>“I know something I didn’t then. That’s it.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lt John Irving/Lt Edward Little</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sing one for the old times</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>what started out as a simple "john irving trans" message sent to my friends became this. no regrets.</p><p>note: in flashbacks to their teen years, john is referred to by the right name and pronouns but neither of them know he's trans yet. there is mentioned but no explicit or purposeful misgendering. </p><p>enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>John, for reasons both obvious and trivial, is not at all how Edward remembers him. Well, chiefly, Edward hadn’t even recognized him until they moved in together as roommates. This John Irving went almost comically stiff upon catching sight of him behind the boxes in his arms. Then he disappeared out the door, and Edward didn’t see him again for the rest of the day. It took him three more nights in the flat to figure out why. On the fourth evening there, he picks up a familiar cross necklace on the bathroom counter after John’s shower, and handing it back to him, realizes where he’d seen it before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he says quickly, as if it pains him to say so. Maybe it does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” And Edward stands there staring at him like an idiot, cataloguing the things that come back to him so quickly. A stern look that never quite fit, books clutched tight, Edward walking faster in the hall to try and keep up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John grimaces, jaw tightening to brace himself. Which, while concerning, is yet another thing he recognizes from grade school. “Don’t say it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say what? I won’t.” He doesn’t know what not to say, but he won’t say anything if John doesn’t want him to. He’s too deep in reverie over the time that’s passed, since he and </span>
  <em>
    <span>John </span>
  </em>
  <span>had their somewhat short-lived adolescent friendship. It felt like talking to any other classmate at the time, but in the years since, he’s thought about their talks more than he has any of the others. And that idea, that they knew such intimate things about each other, and here Edward was, unable to see him-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know it was you.” John cringes at his own words. “I hoped you might not realize…” These apparently aren’t any better, and he corrects himself again. “I didn’t want there to be any confusion. But it was deceitful, not to say anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Deceitful.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That’s always how he used to talk: a sharp vocabulary, always tinged with fire and brimstone. “No, no, it’s alright.” Edward realizes belatedly that the thoughtful frown he’s wearing probably isn’t doing anything to help convince him. “Really. I’m… happy to see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John huffs. “Who would have thought that I’m the better liar of us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not lying,” he blurts out, too quickly to be anything but defensive. “I’m not lying. I wanted to talk with you again.” His eyes soften then. “I’m glad I found you, even on accident.” And he knows John can’t say the same- if only for his desire to keep the past in the past- because no matter what he thinks of himself, he is no liar. It stings a little, but Edward understands. “We don’t have to talk about it though. If you don’t want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d appreciate that,” John says with a nod, though it’s full of regret. Edward nods in return, equally rueful. He won’t admit it, but he’s lacked and wanted that companionship they’d had since they parted unceremoniously with the end of Year 13. It never seemed as though they were all that close, at least until he was alone at King’s College and realized how little he liked sharing his time with anyone else. Edward hadn’t thought to look for him before now, wouldn’t have found him anyway, given the different name and voice and hair. But now that he knows, so much more of John is still the same. “I’m making this awkward,” he laughs, and Edward waves him off, offers to make dinner just so he can collect himself. John accepts, probably for much the same reason.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Edward brings him into the boys’ bathroom during their school formal, mostly because it’s private, and he doubts that any of the guys will have a problem with it, unlike if they’d gone to the ladies’ room. In fact, he’s sure they’ll see pairs come in for less innocuous reasons than they have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John takes off his shoes, a pair of decorous kitten heels that Edward knows he picked out himself, probably not anticipating the irritation of even the slightest incline. He’s always worn flat Mary Janes, appropriate and adding a girlish touch to the sober school uniform. “Shit,” he hisses, throwing them onto the tile with disdain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blasphemous,” Edward mutters, and he gets a mean glare for it, off-set by the demure curls framing John’s face and besides that everything else about him. “I wish I had remembered how much I hate crowds before I let George talk me into buying a ticket.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My brother wanted me to come. Get out and meet people.” This, he adds with quotation marks, lips pursing unhappily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But here you are, hiding in the restroom with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John presses his back to the wall, toying with the hem of one of his long gloves. He sighs, knees to his chest, his signature sitting style when they’re together. “Nobody wants to meet me. And anybody who already has doesn’t want to meet me again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward frowns, giving him a sidelong glance. “I saw no less than five blokes eyeing you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like a piece of meat,” he snaps. “You have to know that’s not the same thing. And anyway, what would they want to do with me after they come to find I’m not going to put out?” To that, Edward can’t argue, and he starts to shrug before he realizes how upsetting this must be. Even if he isn’t very Christian-like himself, Edward respects John’s beliefs, even if some of it would usually have him rolling his eyes. But he only complains about aspects of religion that already seem to make John uncomfortable, mostly things his parents have told him to believe, not things he thinks for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The same cannot be said about the other teenage boys at this school. He knows that well enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Sorry. Well maybe some of the girls-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head furiously, then blows a lock of hair out of his face where it’s landed. “I don’t know anything about girls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward huffs a laugh. “You and me both.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next few weeks are easy enough, even though Edward finds himself hit by nostalgia more often than he would like. Yearning for such a terrible period in his life just doesn’t make sense, even if this current period isn’t much better. He and John are civil to each other, even friendly when he makes an effort, but it’s awful not to be able to catch up farther than what universities they went to and what they’re doing for work now. John tells him he went back to Edinburgh, where his family is from (which- Edward knew already, they’d discussed their plans before, but this is a clean slate and all, so he nods with renewed interest). He’s only just returned to London for a job as a research assistant. Meanwhile, Edward has stayed in the same flat for the last six years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s typical of both of them: John to flee, and Edward to cope in stagnation. He wonders if there isn’t something more to that, but doesn’t think he’ll get a chance to ask now that they’re in this impasse. He tries, really makes an effort to think about why this would be better for John, especially when he knows he wouldn’t be able to help bringing up something that the other man might do well not to remember. Even more so because sometimes Edward addresses his past self in thought with the wrong name. If he ever got the chance to reminisce, to possibly make that mistake aloud, he might die. So it’s better this way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the end of the month, when they both get paid, they order a nice dinner in. Edward has been a bit less moony, and John has been a bit less stiff in recent days. Edward’s finishing a bit of work on his laptop while pretending to watch some movie John has put on. Who knew that being a marketing officer would need so much data entry? (He did, and he still took the job.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Edward?” He hears from the opposite side of the sofa, just on the outskirts of his attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John audibly shifts, pauses the movie, and Edward doesn’t look up yet, entering in just a few more figures for the night. “I might be asking too much of you,” he says quietly, but there’s an edge to it. “But do you remember when you told me you were going to stop smoking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stops typing. “Yeah. I remember.” He’d said it of his own volition after a term or two of John thumping him every time he mentioned wanting a joint, remembers the genuine, humble pleasure on his face when Edward said he would try to stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was just wondering… if you did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, no.” He winces, but John doesn’t even blink. Maybe he no longer frets on that sort of thing. Maybe that isn’t what the conversation is about. “Did you ever try it like I told you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He huffs, chews on his lip. “Once. I didn’t like it.” Edward feels himself smiling, sees it reflected back at him. “You know, university and all. But I don’t think I was doing it right anyway.” He can see it now, John taking a puff and hacking up a lung before he’d even get a chance to hold it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can show you,” he offers tentatively, afraid of losing what small opening he has to remind John what they used to be for each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John shakes his head. “No. Absolutely no smoking in this flat.” His tone is still playful, and Edward feels confident enough to raise a brow at that, eyes drifting toward the door to his room where his diffuser is probably still running. The other man is predictably scandalized once he makes the connection. “Ned!” he exclaims in mock-betrayal, then his face shudders fast enough to give Edward whiplash once he realizes his mistake. But it’s too familiar, too close to what he’s been looking back on for all this time to let John retreat back into formality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shuts his laptop with a snap, giving them both a jolt. What can he say? </span>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you. You still look afraid to laugh. Nothing your parents said was true. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“You were the only one who called me that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it’s John who looks back at him, penitent. “I don’t mean to be difficult, I really don’t, I’m trying to forget the same things you have to forget about me, but it’s not-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither of us have to forget anything, John.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can you reconcile this with that?” he asks, gesturing between himself and a diminutive space on the floor, something unspeakable imagined there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know something I didn’t then. That’s it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lapse back into silence, John’s lips parted as he stares at Edward. He stubbornly holds eye contact until John breaks it to pick the remote back up and press play.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>John is chattering with him on the walk back to his house one evening when he decides to breach the subject.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For the record, I’m not just discriminating against cheerleaders when I say I don’t want to date her. Girls don’t interest me.” John stiffens next to him, and Edward fears the worst, despite knowing how much more accepting he’s become in the past few years. He’s been open about his struggle to understand topics like sexuality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t like girls?” he asks then in a hushed, plaintive tone. “Then you like boys instead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those two don’t have to be- ah, shit. Yes. I like boys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s face is momentarily grief-stricken, and he prepares himself for a sermon, but it never comes. “I- I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. I don’t like girls either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward sends him a questioning glance, somewhat still on edge and irritated by his naivety because of it. “Well you’re not expected to.” And a few expressions flit across John’s face in mere seconds, landing on a look of such intense hurt that it nearly makes Edward want to take it back, even if- in his humble opinion- it shouldn’t be any cause for offense. John doesn’t reply, holds onto his book tight as always. He doesn’t take up Edward’s invitation for tea, citing his curfew, which is admittedly close. But of course he can sense that it’s a convenient excuse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning he apologizes, even though he doesn’t know what he’s saying sorry for, just because it feels like he should. John waves him off. “No, you’re right,” he says with a tight smile. “It’s not the same at all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After John’s slip-up, he seems more willing to make ‘mistakes’ since. He sometimes talks about their former classmates in a distant sort of way, although Edward guesses that’s normal for him, since he wasn’t quite close to anyone there. Edward never thinks of himself as having superior social skills, but compared to John, he always had a gaggle of friends to call on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows exactly when it hit him in their last year at school together- that John didn’t have anybody else. Maybe his siblings, maybe one or two other friends who didn’t go to their school. But he was so isolated, initially by choice and then because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had no choice</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that Edward reckoned he was John’s only friend there. They both have their own social groups now, but John’s is mostly in conjunction with his religious activities in Edinburgh, and they didn’t come back to London with him. Edward is relieved by this doubly; John has friends now, and they aren’t here, so Edward still gets the weight of his undivided attention. Some days that makes him feel like a prick, but for the most part he doesn’t dwell on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s getting cold out, and many times both of them are directed to work from home. The atmosphere becomes almost cozy between them. Some nights when he falls asleep on the couch while working, Edward wakes to find his closed laptop on the coffee table, headphones neatly circled on top, and a throw blanket over him. He wants to do the same for John, but is never afforded the chance; the other man is not so often vulnerable around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>During this stretch of chilly days, he talks shit to George over the phone now that their boss has decided to make this an informal work holiday. Probably just knows that no one wants to go anywhere. He knows John can hear him, and that he probably even knows who Edward is talking to. But considering they weren’t very close at school, he doesn’t imagine that George and John have anything much to say to each other. He hasn’t thought about what would happen if he invited George over, if it would even be advisable. He has the brief, horrific thought that George might recognize John from grade school more quickly than he had. The man does have a prodigious memory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was that George Hodgson?” John asks him casually after one of these phone calls. Edward puts him on speaker phone every night, so he must already know the answer to that. He nods anyway as John passes him plates to load the dishwasher. “Does he know about me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The unspoken question is </span>
  <em>
    <span>have you told him about me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he picks up on it immediately. “No. He only knows that I’m living in a new flat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John nods in understanding with a blank look, idly scrapes at a stain on the counter. “Would you? Tell him, I mean? I just want to see…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Edward agrees without hesitation. He’s been wanting to talk about John for a while, but was under the impression that he wouldn’t like the breach of privacy, especially since the George of yesteryear was not very tactful, and frankly hasn’t changed much since. “Yeah, I’ll tell him. We’re going to lunch tomorrow.” John gives him a gracious bow, the solemnity of it making Edward smile. Then they go back to work, comfortable silence returning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As promised, he explains the whole story to George at lunch. Maybe not the whole story, because he barely has that anyway (and some things he’d like to keep to himself- the fear he still has of scaring John away, for example) but the important parts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No shit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward rolls his eyes. “No shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow. Good for him. He must have been looking for you.” George sips at his coffee. “I mean, for you to become roommates as soon as he got back to London, when you didn’t even recognize him, that’s strange.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glances over at the possible dig at his memory, but no, he seems to mean no harm. “It’s a fluke, I think. He looked pretty upset when he saw my face.” He grimaces at the memory of it, at the time having thought he just looked especially haggard that day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George shrugs, already distracted and looking out the window at some birds. “Maybe he didn’t know what he was in for, seeing you again. Being so in love with you back then, it must’ve been a right shock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Edward’s head whips around in a much more dramatic display than he’d usually allow. “No he wasn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely was. I don’t think Ab- his religious leanings would have allowed it though. Guess that isn’t a problem anymore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite being currently swamped by the idea that John might have </span>
  <em>
    <span>found </span>
  </em>
  <span>him on purpose, Edward kicks him under the table. “Don’t say that. Just because… That doesn’t mean he doesn’t still have beliefs. Christ, George.” The truth is, he hasn’t heard John talk as much about it as he used to, but knows well enough that he still goes to church on Sundays, at the very least to volunteer. Edward does suspect that much of his piety was a result of his parents’ influence. It’s just not right for him to assume.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, sorry, sorry.” George winces, rubbing his shin, then looks up with a raised brow. “It’s funny how quick you come to his defense, even now.” Edward groans and picks up his things without waiting for him. “Hey, where are you going?” he calls, and Edward steps out the door just as George laughs and makes to follow him outside. “Anyway, I was going to tell you about this busker I was talking to on the Tube, said he nicked his cello off a member of the symphony-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That afternoon, he returns home to find John on the sofa, laptop at hand. He’s been working on something big lately, it seems, for the psychology department. Edward hangs his coat and considers asking him if it was really an accident that they ended up rooming together. But his words dissolve as soon as he turns about to see John watching him with a tender look. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns back to his work as Edward comes closer. “How was lunch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. George is a twit, as usual. But he wanted me to say hello to you, and that he’s happy you’re… here.” He doesn’t know how to tell John what he said without saying it at all, since they’ve both been dancing around putting words to this since the start. “He sort of said congrats, but I don’t know what he was congratulating you for? He’s happy to know you’re happy, I think. You know. Happier, I guess,” he trails off with a laugh, feeling stupid for rambling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John nods, and some tension leaves his shoulders. “Yeah, I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he realizes that this has been happening since before he and John even met in their Maths class last year, he has a brief fit in which he violently unlaces his shoes and throws them at the door, prompting Maggie to poke her head in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Need anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then put a sock in it, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She closes the door, and he retrieves his shoes, now placing them neatly at the foot of his bed where they ought to be. Then he hops into bed, even knowing he has homework, and stares at his alarm clock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today is the third time he’s seen John cry in class, and just like the first times, it seems like he didn’t even know what was happening. He was quiet about it, didn’t wipe the tears from his reddened cheeks until he chanced to touch his face and find it wet. It wasn’t disruptive, and stupidly, Edward didn’t say anything until the end of the day, catching John in the courtyard before he started to walk home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong? You were crying earlier.” He cursed himself. How stupid to tell him what he must already know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was nothing of importance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t have been thinking about it in Chemistry of all places if it was nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John glared as if Edward was tattling on him. “Well, it’s nothing I want to talk about.” He knew that if he kept going about it, John would dig his heels in and then there would be no way to help him. Edward wasn’t so concerned. Maybe John was finally having boy troubles, something he could hypothetically sympathise with, or maybe he was having a row with his brother. That would be enough to make him cry, probably, since they’re so close. Except he knew that wasn’t it, and the real issue at hand- whatever that might have been- was eating at him. John walked even faster than usual until Edward was just staring at the back of his head, ponytail bobbing. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you with it,” he finally said after a long minute of silence, a clear prompt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t be troubled,” Edward promised. (He was already troubled.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just…” Edward picked up the pace, closing the distance between them as John’s voice lowered and warbled. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” It sounded like he might cry again. Edward was quiet at his side. “I pray, I ask for forgiveness, but it doesn’t matter.” A crisis of faith, then. He opened his mouth to advise John: </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen, if any of us are going to heaven…</span>
  </em>
  <span> But he didn’t get to say it before John continued, gripping his own arms so tight that it had to hurt. “My dad hates me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward stopped, and John swiveled on his heels to face him, eyes full of fear. “Why do you think that?” He turned back around and kept walking, so Edward followed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just trying to understand. But he gets mad if I ask why he wants me to stay home all the time, or why I have to-” He shook his head, as if ridding himself of the thought. “And he married someone else. He wants me to be more like her, I think.” Edward was shocked to hear this, although John had told him his mum died when he was young, but he’s never mentioned a stepmother, or even a new girlfriend. Edward has seen his father, sober and standing apart from other parents at school events, and at the market and the bank sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s got a wife? I’ve never seen her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s at home. Doesn’t talk much.” John dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve, shivered with the autumn chill even though his jacket was draped over his arm to be shrugged on. “I do though. Too much. About wanting to go to university and join the clergy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This, Edward had heard before. But it still mystified him this evening. “Do they allow that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! But</span>
  <em>
    <span> he </span>
  </em>
  <span>doesn’t.” His breath started to come fast, voice going shrill with panic. “And- yesterday, when I was back late, he thrashed me in front of Archie, and I don’t want to-” John furiously wiped at his eyes, Edward taking him by the elbow to sit on a bench when he clearly couldn’t see where he was walking anymore. “I don’t want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>disappoint him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but I don’t want to go home,” he sobbed. Edward had never seen him like this, and with all of John’s self-control, he loathed to think how often he must deal with this alone, only to iron it out before anyone sees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he mumbled stupidly after listening to him cry a while, nothing else but spewed curses toward John’s father coming to mind. “Could you stay at my house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John shook his head, already composing himself, and stood. “No, I have to be back soon. I don’t want to put this on you, or- or anyone else. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he left. Walking briskly and with his head down so that Edward knew not to follow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All day he’s been thinking that he should have gone after him anyway. All day his imagination has been running off with what little John had told him, and it hasn’t led to anywhere good. He sighs and gets out of bed just to turn the lights off even though it’s still early. He’ll do his work in the morning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Edward usually takes his paid vacation off around Christmas, since it’s convenient, and although John doesn’t have enough vacation days to spare, it works out that they have a break at the same time, since his entire department wants to go home for the holidays.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The same can’t be said for either of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For Edward, Christmas just has never been that special once he became an adult, since he sees his family so often. He still sends cards with money (if he can spare it) to his younger cousins, but for the most part, they all go their separate ways with their own families. “Are you still living alone?” his siblings ask often around this time of year, and he clarifies that he’s living with a roommate. They take that as a yes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In John’s case, he didn’t celebrate Christmas with his family in the first place, something about Presbyterian tradition. When Edward stupidly asks during dinner if he’ll be going to visit them, he gets a blank look in return. “I don’t really talk to them anymore. Aside from Lewie, you know, but we haven’t seen each other in a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Full of wisdom as always, I see.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “When did you ring home last?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks about it for a while, picks at his spaghetti with pursed lips. “Nine years ago, to tell my father I’d switched to a different major.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward swallows heavily, almost dropping his fork before he gets a hold of himself. “Fuck. Sorry.” John waves him off, but he still feels wrongfooted. “Do you want to do something here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do something for what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Christmas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bit of a pagan holiday, isn’t it?” he murmurs with a huff of laughter, and Edward laughs too, the tension broken. “I haven’t ever celebrated.” He’d suspected as much, but that isn’t a real answer. John always seemed to have a distaste for it, but he doesn’t know how much of that was genuine and how much was bestowed upon him by his family tradition. It’s fitting that Edward would surpass a Christian in celebration of only the most commercial holiday there is. Of course, it does go against the modest nature of John’s philosophy, but Edward has dragged him into worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we should. Nothing big. Just put some lights up.” He considers this, catching a glimpse of John’s nod in skeptical agreement. “And there are church services everywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles, but it’s somewhat self-conscious. “Ah, I don’t know if I would… It would be strange for me to just- go like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would go with you,” Edward adds as planned. He’d be curious to see how it goes, and he doesn’t want John to be alone when even Edward takes for granted that he could go home if he wanted to. “Just, if you want. We don’t have to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s eyes are fixed on him, disbelieving. “I… You hate that kind of thing.” He shrugs. Edward doesn’t really hate it, but he’d been a bit edgy and godless as a teenager, so he doesn’t blame John for thinking so. “That’s very kind of you,” the other man says, stilted like always when he’s been rattled. “I think I’m alright staying home, but thank you.” Edward takes no offense to being turned down, and is in fact happy not to go out at all, but he still wanted to offer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, John sits closer to him than usual, and the next few days mark a sharp increase in his familiarity to Edward. He tells Edward how it was just a month after leaving London that he got his current haircut, and how he went from Edinburgh’s theology program to studying psychology before the end of his first year there, and how it was the university chaplain and his roommate who helped him ‘sort himself out’ (in his words). Edward suspects he’s uncomfortable with describing the specifics, or putting words to his experience. Or maybe that it’s difficult for him to do so. John is candid, if not always with himself then with others, in a way that Edward has never been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it’s nice. To hear his restless, silvery voice that’s as new as it is familiar. To be his confidant again after they’ve been apart for so long. He considers this in the dark of his bedroom one night. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Being so in love with you back then</span>
  </em>
  <span>, George told him. When he thinks about that- which he has been thinking about it often, now that it’s been brought ot his attention- he feels awful somehow. Like John is allowing him to see so much of him because of a high school crush that stuck, and like Edward is taking advantage of that because he wants to feel needed. But it only takes a few nights of self-deprecating introspection to come to a new conclusion: he might be the slightest bit in love himself. Whether that too is a leftover from high school that he never examined closer (he has many of those) or if it’s new, he isn’t sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What he does know is that he’s never felt so warm in previous flats, has never cared about Christmas lights before, and has never so thoroughly enjoyed being laid into for leaving dishes out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>John waits in the parlor with his mother for the thirty minutes it takes to get himself together, and kindly doesn’t complain about what must be a strange conversation. This is only the second time he’s come inside after all, since he usually insists upon pacing like a Queen’s Guard on the pavement while he waits. But it’s hot out today, and Edward is taking a particularly long time to get ready. He doesn’t mean to, and it’s not like he’s doing anything important; just waiting for the motivation to get out of bed on a Saturday morning, a day when he usually wouldn’t have obligations. But today John has decided to take him swimming. A curious choice, but he agreed. So now he has to get up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does eventually manage to cobble together the things he’ll need: swim trunks, towel, charger, headphones if they get tired of each other on the ride back- and he almost forgets, a bracelet he came across at a car boot sale. He doesn’t typically shop for other people, but this so strongly reminded him of John that he had to get it. Now he feels stupid, considers the fact that John never wears jewelry but stud earrings and his cross. But he brings it anyway, since it would be a waste of 4 quid if he didn’t. He remembers his wallet at the last second before he’s out the door and barely acknowledging his mother or John (who jumps out of his seat, clearly ready to leave this social situation) as he puts everything in a small tote.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, let’s go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re cycling to Hampstead for the ponds, which fortunately isn’t a long distance to go, but Edward can’t muster up any enthusiasm about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you in a mood?” John asks him at an intersection where they’ve stopped. It’s an innocent question, one that he asks often when Edward clams up. And usually, he answers honestly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s breath hitches as they have to step back on the pedals, but after this interruption he continues, tone still carefully neutral. “Are you mad at me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no. Alright, I am in a mood.” He gets no response to that, and John is a ways behind him, so he can’t see if there’s any change in his expression. He considers adding on that he doesn’t know why he’s like this, what made him feel this way here and now, but the words die in his throat, and they bike in silence the rest of the way there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s only when they’re locking their bikes up at the outskirts of the heath that he thinks to say anything else on the matter. “Did you really think I was mad at you?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John is digging through his bag, doesn’t hear him. “Could you hold this for me a second?” He hands Edward a canister of bug spray without waiting for an answer. Then he gets a few coins out for admission and takes the can back, replacing it in the bag. “Come on, it’s 2 pounds to swim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as usual, by the time Edward is back in his own head, John is a dozen long steps ahead, so he jogs to catch up. “No one actually checks if you’ve paid or not,” he says once they’ve reunited. He and George just go in all the time. But John glares, and the unspoken message is clear. “Fine.” They pay at a machine in the clearing and walk toward the nearest pond to settle in and get into their bathing suits. “Ah, wait.” Edward stops him with a hand on his elbow. “This is the men’s pond. I forgot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John recovers quickly and strides past it without another glance. “Oh. There’s one where we can both go in, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, of course.” He realizes then that John has never been here before, and he wonders why he chose this place of all places for an outing. “I’ll show you.” They walk a while longer, the gravel trail crunching under their feet. Despite the heat, it’s a pleasant stroll for Edward. The scenery is familiar, and he feels a bit less directionless when he’s leading John around. This silence is more companionable than back on their bikes, and he almost gives into the urge to take John’s wrist in hand, lead him like that. But even if it’s a purely platonic gesture from him, he knows that John doesn’t like when people think they’re boyfriend and girlfriend. He doesn’t either, it’s just less personal to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They arrive at the edge of the pond, really just a glorified lido, and John pulls off his t-shirt behind a bush, even though he’s already covered by both a one-piece suit and shorts. Edward tries not to judge him too harshly, knowing that his general modesty isn’t for show. He goes into the restroom by himself to change and comes back out to find John already sunk deep into the water, bangs plastered to his forehead. He must have jumped in with a splash, and given the murderous scowl on his face, must not have expected it to be so cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Other people pass them by, chattering and laughing, as Edward slips in beside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cold?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. You couldn’t have warned me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, he could have. But truthfully he didn’t think of it. “I thought you knew.” John huffs, blowing the water out around his chin. “What made you want to come here anyway? You never mention swimming, I didn’t think you liked it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I barely know how,” he admits, and now Edward notices that his attempts at keeping himself above water, while successful, are clumsy. “Only went to swimming lessons a few times as a bairn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus. You are a piece of work, you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John wipes his hair away from his eyes, flushing a bit. “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Ned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward rolls his eyes. That’s not one he pulls out often. “Just stay close to me.” John nods seriously, and Edward takes that he’ll listen. It cannot be said that John Irving is a rulebreaker. “So it makes even less sense that you’d want to go for a dip. You didn’t tell me why you insisted on bringing me out here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks at that and turns away. Edward is about to go after him when he realizes John is only going to grasp onto a nearby rock. “I thought you liked it.” He’s about to say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>well yes, but that’s not an answer</span>
  </em>
  <span>, when he realizes that it is an answer. John’s eyes dart about, watching people swimming by and climbing out to dry off. “I could tell you’ve been in a right state the past few days. You talk about Hampstead and swimming sometimes. I thought… You’d like to come out and do something, and maybe we could talk about it. Or not! We don’t have to talk about it. Maybe-” He stops himself and closes his mouth, lips pressed together tightly, then ducks down in the water so that only his eyes and the freckles on the bridge of his nose peek above.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward flounders a moment, shocked. He doesn’t know why; he’s always known John to be thoughtful and mature and kind (sometimes in his own way, sometimes it’s hard to tell that it’s kindness when he’s beating Edward over the head with it). But for anyone to have such a vested interest in him… “I- Thank you. That’s- Yes. I’ll tell you about it. And I do like it here. And I’m glad you dragged me out.” He can’t see John’s mouth, but it’s easy to tell that he’s smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They spend the afternoon there in a relatively secluded little cove, moving whenever too many people start migrating into their space. And Edward helps him with the swimming, which he seems to get the hang of more quickly than not. As for discussing his recent mood, there are a few stilted attempts to describe how </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired </span>
  </em>
  <span>he is, more than anything, and how it seems to come out of nowhere, regardless of what he’s doing. He admits that he’s depressed with the caveat that it’s only on occasion. John nods along, nods emphatically at certain things more than others, and Edward considers that he might struggle with this too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they lay drying out in the sun, feet still hanging over the water so they won’t get muddy, their conversation becomes something lighter. Edward is surprised to learn that he can remember the last few days’ events with clarity, even though the entire week he had been convinced he was moving based on muscle memory rather than will. It’s easier with someone to fill in the blanks. John complains of a guy at school who won’t leave him alone, and it spirals into petty gossip about everyone they know. By the end of it, they’re both in hysterics, still laughing on the walk back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Edward hears a jangling in his bag and pauses while John continues snickering. “Shit, nearly forgot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now he can’t possibly keep the bracelet, even if he feels his face growing warm with the thought that John might think it’s ugly or something of the like. “I saw this at a market and it, er, reminded me of you. I don’t know if-” He finally pulls the thing out, a silver cuff with pale blue gems set into it and a compass rose as the centerpiece. As it’s presented for his inspection, John takes it from him with a delicacy usually reserved for Bible pages. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slips it on, and Edward breathes an internal sigh of relief, knowing now that at the very least he doesn’t hate it. They both stare at it for a while, John’s wrist twisting this way and that. The cuff is too big for him, but he doesn’t seem to mind, enthralled by it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got it for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was it expensive?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John raises a brow in skepticism. “It looks expensive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you don’t take this bloody bracelet because it looks expensive, so help me God-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay! I’ll take it, swear.” John looks at him, eyes alight with unusual mischief. “Blasphemy, Ned.” Edward groans, but when John starts to laugh, he follows in suit as they get ready for the ride home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>John, despite supposedly having no investment in Christmas decoration, directs Edward on where to put up the lights and candles he got from his parents’ house, all of which are tasteful and neutral. He figured John wouldn’t like the gaudier pieces, so he left the unnerving reindeer figurines, among other kitschy things they’d collected over the years, alone. The stateliness of what he </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> brought seems to please John, which is all he really needs it for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So on Christmas Eve, they sit bundled by the unfortunately bricked-up fireplace with a space heater to compensate, drinking peppermint tea with dubiously-festive cheer. It’s a sweet thing to have no obligations during presumed celebration of national holidays. Blessedly, neither of them do anything for the majority of the day, instead spending it flipping through channels or dozing on the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Edward has the demented idea to go look at the lights on Regent Street, and John concedes to him too easily, and it takes him until they’re getting dressed for a walk when he realizes he shouldn’t have suggested it at all. But as soon as they step out into the stairwell, John attaches himself to Edward’s side, bracing for the chill, and he reconsiders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What made you want to go out?” John asks him halfway down the road. Edward senses the disinterest in his tone, mixed with annoyance at being dragged (really he went willingly) out of the flat and into the cold. It’s going to take about fifteen minutes to get to the thick of it, he thinks. And of course, it will be crowded by tourists and gift-shoppers alike. He does despise himself sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The lights are nice,” he replies stupidly. “You haven’t seen them before, have you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John shakes his head and looks to him, perplexed. “I haven’t mentioned wanting to, though.” Now he’s just being petty, and Edward doesn’t give him an answer, rolling his eyes. He isn’t truly irritated; he’s too glad they’ve returned to talking pure shit again to be bothered. Walking side by side, bumping shoulders with their breath fogging in front of them, it reminds him of all their nippy walks home in January when they would catch up on what all they missed of each other during the Christmas Break. It was all they could do to distract from the cold. Now it doesn’t seem so bad, maybe because he’s older, maybe because he’s lost the melodrama of his teenage years. John leaving for Edinburgh, though, was something that only got worse as years past. He never reacted appropriately to those sort of things, promised to keep in touch, saw but never registered the wounded look on John’s face when he shrugged the moving date off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward knows now that he was hurt too, and that was probably why he didn’t come to say goodbye. The ignorance that pervaded his thinking still mortifies him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why isn’t he just staying at home with his parents? Why can’t we just go to the same school again?</span>
  </em>
  <span> If he cared to look further, he would have known why. But he chose not to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” John puts a hand on his shoulder, shocking him out of his reverie. “I’d like to see the lights. Really, I was thinking about it, I just never got the chance to mention it,” he hurries to say, and it’s equal parts sweet and upsetting that he thinks Edward’s mood is his problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, it’s okay. I’m not regretting a stroll ten minutes in, promise.” They both huff in laughter. “Just thinking.” And he can tell John wants to ask, but he doesn’t, and Edward doesn’t tell him because he’s not sure he can think up a heartfelt apology on the spot like this. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’ll explain why he didn’t make an effort to see John before he’d shipped off, how he thinks he can admit it now, and how there’s something else he needs to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now they’re coming upon the beginnings of a crowd, and he takes hold of John’s elbow for them to navigate through it together. It’s an awkward position since they’re of about the same proportions, and Edward can’t keep him close like this, but he’s working on it. John doesn’t seem to mind, his eyes shifting from person to bus to storefront in curiosity, and allows himself to be led. There are lights up in the surrounding areas too, so they stop the first time to look at a red and white display in the intersection. Edward slides his hand down John’s forearm to his wrist, insulated by coat and sweater- with fewer layers it would be too obvious. But John is quietly staring up at the candy-like patterns in the lights, enraptured, cheeks red with the cold. Sometimes his gaze trails down to Edward, whose eyes only leave him when he’s trying not to get caught looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s more on the next few streets over, c’mon,” he says when he feels John getting antsy beside him. And he slips further down to grasp his hand. This, Edward is sure he notices, but the only reaction he gets is a quick glance down at the cold sensation. John’s lips part, and he doesn’t say anything, nods and follows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they get to the main stretch of lights, it’s completely dark out, but Edward wouldn’t know it from the glow surrounding them. He’s seen too many light displays over the years to be truly impressed, but his nostalgia is sated by the familiar layout of string-lit netting that hangs between the buildings. He wants to say something, or suggest that they stay a while, and make it special for John. But the way he’s gone completely quiet compels Edward to keep the peace and a comfortable grip on his hand. People surround them on every side, but usually stay a good enough distance away that it doesn’t distract. The walk towards and under the lights is a serene one, their heads tilted together unconsciously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward leads him along the pavement, bypassing carolers and window-shoppers, points out interesting formations to John whenever he thinks to. But he soon turns to find the man’s eyes on him again, fixed yet lost, rather than the lights. So he stops, faces him completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to go home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John nods absently before he’s even finished, then shakes his head once it’s registered. “Wait, we can stay. It’s nice. I don’t mind.” However, he doesn’t protest when Edward steers him down a side street back in the direction of their flat. He only looks back toward the busy crossroads once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Getting to a less bustling area and without the murmur of the crowds, Edward realizes he has no idea what he’s doing, or what he’s going to say to explain their hasty exit. The quiet is already intimidating him into speaking before he’s thought it through. “I missed going out with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s breathing is harsh in his ear with their brisk pace. “When?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At uni. When I was living alone. When we’ve been at work, haven’t had the time.” Sometimes they have had the time, but up until now, Edward’s never had a good enough excuse to take John out like he used to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too,” he admits. “I- I always wanted to call you, but I knew I’d have to come back if we talked again, and I wasn’t ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t have asked you to come back.” He cringes as he says it, because it might be a lie. Given his lack of understanding at the time, maybe he would have asked. Or maybe he would have been too proud to admit that was what he wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John sighs. “It doesn’t matter. I would’ve, because I wanted to see you so bad. I was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>lonely </span>
  </em>
  <span>the first few years away.” Edward nods, swallowing hard at the idea. “I had friends, just… None of them were…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Like you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> goes unsaid, and yet he hears it loud and clear. Edward picks up his speed, and John laughs, an airy thing. He laughs too as this becomes familiar territory once again. The two of them chasing each other like always. “I never do things for fun,” he pants out with a hint of a smile in his voice. “And I suppose you don’t either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I don’t. God, wet blankets, the both of us.” Another fit of laughter, and they cross over to their building, Edward leaning against the brick wall as they catch their breath. John’s hand is still in his, and he squeezes it, prompting the man to look over. “Let’s go out for New Years. Or- or any time you want.” He feels like he might be drunk, and the puzzled amusement in John’s eyes isn’t helping the matter. “We’ll learn to have fun again if it kills us, and it’ll be better than high school. There is so fucking much I want to do with you.” His face is hot now, and John is flushed probably just as much as he is. “I missed you. I still miss you,” Edward finishes quietly, grabs his other hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever bit of amusement there was left in his features is gone now, as John stares at him, his chest heaving. His expression is difficult to read, especially with his face shadowed by the streetlamp behind him. “It’s still me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know it’s you. I mean, I miss telling you everything, and how much you told me, and I want to hear it all again now that you’re more yourself.” He wants to say that he has no idea where all this is coming from, but truthfully it’s been his internal monologue every time he’s seen John in the past few months. He wants to know John like he did before and then some. It’s almost selfish, but, he thinks, John deserves someone who knows him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ned,” he says softly, and a lump grows in Edward’s throat just hearing it. “Let’s go inside.” And he nods, knowing he’s made a fool of himself and yet feeling better than he has in months. He isn’t bothered when he has to drop his hands back to his sides, the warmth of John’s skin lingering, when they walk up. He thinks John understands at least, that he knows how Edward feels about him, and that’s enough to satisfy him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John lets him in first, quietly closes the door behind them. The flat really does look nice with all the lights and greenery to spruce it up. Edward’s not looked at it before very carefully, but they’ve done a good job. He takes off his shoes and coat, startled when John takes it from his hands to hang up and does the same with his own. Edward turns about to thank him and gets the breath knocked out of him when John pulls him in by the front of his jumper. Their lips meet, hard and a bit dry, only for a moment before he withdraws, not even giving Edward the chance to respond or question it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I’m sorry, I should’ve asked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward huffs. Their faces are still inches apart. “You can ask now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I?” John blinks, owlish, and Edward can’t help but close the distance for him. This time, he tilts John’s chin, gives him the chance to relax into it, both of them pressed against one another. Then when they part, John’s eyes fluttering open a few seconds later, Edward is hauled toward the door to his bedroom. No, John’s bedroom, which he’s never seen the inside of but for a glimpse. When he opens the door, the other man steps back a tad. “It’s not that- I just want to be in private,” he explains, and Edward nods, even though no one could possibly see or hear them in the living room either. He understands the need to feel less out in the open, regardless of any real threat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John hurries in to turn on his bedside lamp. In the meantime he gives the space a cursory glance, noting a familiar writing desk probably from his childhood bedroom, and steps farther in. The bed is neatly-made, and a scenic calendar is seemingly the only decoration he has, which holds over from the other room as well. Still, it’s warm and lived-in. There’s his water bottle on the desk, covered in travel-themed souvenir stickers Edward hasn’t gotten the nerve to ask about yet, and a well-used painting set in the corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes to sit on the mattress with the uncanny feeling that he’s been here before, or that he should have been. John seems to surge forward, then pause, slowing his movements as he comes to rest one knee on the bed between Edward’s legs. “What do you want? To kiss again?” He nods and flattens his palms over Edward’s chest as they come back together. John is smiling against his lips, he can tell, and it fills him with such warmth and pride he can hardly stand it. He gets lost in it, allowing John to press him into laying flat and struggling to stay connected while he’s shifting to straddle Edward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is everything I wanted,” John breathes between kisses, not bothering to open his eyes. “It’s taken me forever to accept that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward strokes down his sides, over his hips. “You can have it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s jumper lifts a bit, and he jolts at the cold of Edward’s watch on his skin, so Edward takes it off, decides to put it on the nightstand as he figures he’ll be staying the night here if he can swing it. His fingers bump something as he drops it. When he looks to see what he’s jostled, he almost knocks John’s teeth in with how quickly he sits upright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You kept it. Fuck, John.” And he has to kiss him again, deep and frantic, brushing his hair back adoringly. In his peripheral vision, he can still see his watch and the 4 pound silver bracelet from fucking high school, gleaming under the lamplight. He hides his face in the crook of John’s neck as his eyes water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wore it all over Edinburgh.” John squeezes the base of his neck, his arms winding around Edward now that they’re so close. “I was too scared to put it on when you were around. I thought… You might remember and hate me for leaving all over again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up and presses their foreheads together. “I didn’t hate you. I never hated you. I should have come and said goodbye.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright.” And when they kiss again, Edward can almost convince himself that it is. He still thinks he should apologize properly when he gets the chance, but he can sense that now is not the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John is almost feverish, grasping at Edward’s clothes and breathing hard through his nose when he can. Edward is about to tell him they have all night (and longer, he hopes) when his phone rings. He has the sneaking suspicion that it’s work-related, and he’s already promised himself that he’d never let his boss bother him on holiday again, so he declines it without looking. Whoever it is, they’ll understand. But they don’t. It buzzes in his pocket again after only a moment, and he groans, pulling away with an apologetic look. It’s George. John slips out of his lap, and he mourns the loss, already sulking when he accepts the call. “What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can hear Christmas music in the background, and the distinct sound of his coworkers talking shit. “Merry Christmas, Edward,” George chirps with some difficulty over them. He’s already drunk, and it’s barely nine o’clock. Edward confirms this with a glance over at his watch. “Are you having a good time at home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking back at John to reassure him, he’s stunned to find the other man working to wriggle his jeans down and off, taking no notice of Edward’s gaping. “Yes. A blast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and- what’s his name? John! Are you and John at home together? Are you two busy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very, very busy.” He balances the phone between his ear and shoulder and starts to undo his belt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well that’s too bad, I was-” There’s a moment where the line goes quiet, and he can hear the first few notes of Jingle Bells. Then a stool scraping across the floor. “Wait, wait a minute, hold on-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John is laughing gently, maybe at what he’s saying, or maybe at the look on his face. “Like I said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> busy, I’ve got to go, George. Merry Christmas!” He hangs up before anything else can be asked of him, leaves his phone on the table. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he grouses, and John glares at him even as he comes closer. “Sorry, sorry.” Edward mumbles these words against his lips, finally getting his zipper down. It takes him another moment to step out of his jeans, then they’re picking up where they left off like there was no interruption at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s easy with him, Edward sees now. Should have seen it before, but it’s enough for him to know that he won’t waste any more time. And it seems John is past that too; he’s eager and uncaring of how obvious it is, probably helped by Edward’s own fervor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fall into bed together, never getting beyond the kissing. Whether that’s intentional or not, Edward isn’t sure, but if John was trying to initiate anything, it seems he’s gotten distracted from that point. Which is flattering, really. They make it under the sheets somehow, hands entwined and still joined at the mouth. Edward pulls him in close, distantly considering how stupid they must look, curled into each other as a lump under the comforter, angled awkwardly and bumping noses with every slight movement. But he doesn’t mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John pulls away to breathe, it seems, but then ducks his head to rest on Edward’s chest instead of coming back. “When I saw your posting,” he pants. “I didn’t know, but- God, I hoped it was you. I prayed that it was you. I didn’t know if I could go without seeing you again, and I was too scared to hunt you down.” He says it all in a rush, and the first thing Edward registers is that John probably thought he would never come looking either. Then he feels vindicated that George was wrong about something, but it’s overshadowed by the former thought. He can’t deny it; he might never have found John otherwise, but it wouldn’t been from lack of trying. His arms wind around John and tighten on instinct. He refuses to think about what might have happened if they didn’t find each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But here we are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John laughs, shaky. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward sobers then as he breaks his own promise and considers it. “I would be bloody miserable without you. I was miserable.” John draws back to look at him, resting his head on the pillow. “I might not have had- I might not have felt this way about you then, or didn’t know it, but still.” He wants to say more, but doesn’t have it in him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, Ned,” John tells him, smoothing a hand down his chest, and maybe he also knows what Edward hasn’t said. Hopefully. “Let’s go to bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re already in bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swats Edward’s arm gently. “We’re not going to sleep like this.” A groan, and John shoots him a look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” he concedes, sitting up, although he’s secretly pleased by the implication that they’ll do their nightly routine together, since their schedules usually don’t align well enough to do so. And he’s soft for that sort of thing. Before getting off the bed, he pauses, and John settles behind him, quiet, waiting. “Do you think I should call George back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John exhales with relief, then scoots over to sit beside him at the edge of the mattress. He reaches for the sidetable- picks up his bracelet almost absently, and Edward follows the motions with a watchful eye. “No, if he wasn’t sloshed then, he is now. Call him back tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By any luck, he’ll have forgotten my, uh, urgency.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He puts it on again, probably for the first time in a while. Then he shakes his head with a smile, eyes gleaming, and it’s such a familiar expression on him that it almost aches to see. “No chance.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pity.” Edward takes his hand with as much gallantry as he can manage and kisses his palm, then his wrist where silver meets skin, more in love than he can say. “Come on then, I want to get back in bed with you already. These vacation days don’t grow on trees.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John gives him a sweeping onceover and stands up without a word. He doesn’t need any; the joy and relief and hope are laid bare for Edward to see without them.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading! here's some fun notes:<br/>- i literally found a church of scotland page that called christmas a pagan holiday. love that<br/>- maggie is margaret anne little, archie is archibald irving, and lewie is lewis hay irving<br/>- apparently hampstead heath has such a problem with people not paying to enter the ponds that they want to increase the fee<br/>- ned little posted on london.craigslist.org with no photo or even his last name listed with the post like "hi 28m looking for roommate on medway. quiet and clean." and john looked at it and said "sounds like him" so that's how this happened<br/>- the busker was definitely hickey. sometimes you have to steal musical instruments</p><p>my tumblr is harrypeglar and i'm on twitter @arewebrothers if u wanna yell at/with me abt the terror</p></blockquote></div></div>
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